A/N: The reviews were like accelerant. I loved each and every one of them. Recommended listening for this chapter is on YouTube - Hoaggy Carmichael - Heart & Soul Piano Cover by pianofinity.
June 2011
Jane Ashcroft Voltaire had first kissed Edward Cullen in a London pub in February of 2009. Jane was not studying at Oxford – she was completing a semester abroad at the American University – but she had strategically frequented the same pubs as Oxbridge students. She introduced herself with a sparkling, witty line about how she and Edward had met: at the Schuylkill River regatta gala, two summers earlier. "You were with my cousin Alec," Jane had said.
Like any girl, she had been immediately captivated by Edward – a gorgeous, reserved, and courteous medical student. Edward kissed her first, asked for her number, and then took her on a romantic date. Experienced as she was, she understood she was being procedurally seduced by a handsome young man who had developed a routine for it. Jane had not minded, allowing herself to enjoy – and let Edward hone – his expertise at fucking.
Edward Cullen was the best boyfriend Jane would ever hope to land. "Jane, he's perfect," her mother swooned, before turning stern. "You've landed a prince."
"Mother, nobody says landed like it's the fifties," Jane scoffed.
Her mother, a Georgia-based beauty queen, ignored her. "The family is ideal. I think the mother's a Senator's daughter. I need to check. And the fortune – this is a perfect time, sugar."
Jane blinked suspiciously.
"How do you know all this, mother?" Jane scoffed, feigning ennui.
"I went to Ashley Hall," Jane's mother chortled. "Jane, he's perfect."
Once the sparkle of the idea of Edward had faded, Jane had found herself in a time-consuming, one-sided relationship that felt like handling stone at a quarry. "I don't want to lead you on. I don't want a relationship right now," Edward had cautioned. It a phrase he repeated periodically, so rhythmically that Jane despaired. Despite her claim to the contrary, Jane did want a relationship. It was a small but potent comfort that she and Edward were exclusive: Edward had promised as much. "I'm not doing the polyamory thing," Jane had said crispily, and Edward had agreed.
Jane's mother, Greta, like a life coach, had an answer to every obstacle. If Edward was based in Boston, Daddy could facilitate a job for Jane - Jane was an Art History major and worked for an auction house. If Edward refused to commit, Greta had an explanation. "Sugar, of course he's a commitment-phobe," Greta explained patiently. "He's rich and handsome. Would you settle if you were him?" If Edward refused to go anywhere – he declined invitations to party left and right – it was because he was busy with medical school. "Why are you complaining?" Greta would scold Jane. "You're dating a Harvard doctor."
Phobia to commitment, Jane had found, was the least of her problems. The reality of dating Edward was as boring and difficult as loving a wall. Jane never managed to pierce past a charming, well-lacquered exterior. Jane had been sleeping with him for a year before she found out his mother had died. "I had no idea the mother died," Greta had gasped hungrily into the phone. "I'll ask around." Greta had reported back to Jane quickly. "It was quite tragic. Very hushed. Nobody really knows what happened exactly." It was such useless piffle that Jane had shrieked shrilly into the phone before hanging up.
A wall would have been more entertaining. Over time, Jane had discovered that Edward was both introverted and cripplingly shy. It was Edward's birthright to go to weekend ragatta galas and nightclub openings with high class kids. He rarely claimed it. Edward was laser-focused on his education. Jane found herself in the mind-numbingly irritating position of having to watch television after fucking. Sometimes, she brought him dinner to the fucking library. When he was available, he was generous and generically charming – Jane had the faint, nagging impression that he was ticking boxes off a mental checklist, with the same diligence with which he applied himself to exams. Their dates were well-timed, almost like he knew exactly when Jane's patience was running thin. Box of expensive chocolates, perfume bottles, flowers, expensive dates, kisses on the hand.
The middle of May 2011 was exactly one such moment. Jane's patience was running thin. They had just fucked in the middle of the afternoon. Emmett – his insufferable roommate – was out of the apartment. Emmett was a fellow medical student at Harvard. Like Edward, Emmett had completed his undergraduate at Harvard. Much to Jane's complete befuddlement, his grades were higher than Edward's.
Emmett's absence gave Jane rare windows of opportunity to enjoy her boyfriend.
Edward wasn't inherently charming or sweet, unless he was pushed into a corner. Jane could feel him stiffen as she kissed a line up his spine, careful not to touch the faded white scarring along his ribcage. He didn't like to be touched there. When Jane began sucking on his earlobe, he visibly relaxed, and fisted her hair.
Because he knew he could be a prick, Edward was usually more likely to agree to Jane's requests after sex. "Freddy Mueller is throwing a party at the Royale," Jane murmured crisply. The nightclub Royale Boston had just been inaugurated.
Edward groaned disgustedly. "I'm not going," he sneered coldly. "I'm not even fucking invited."
"Freddy loves you," Jane countered, growing grumpy. "You're always invited to Freddy parties."
"Princess, I'm busy. And I'm fucking exhausted. I'm going to sleep tonight."
To her great horror, Jane had ended up spending her Saturday eating a half-assed tuna salad sandwich and watching Netflix alone. Edward had fixed them both a plate, and Jane had scarfed hers down with hidden disgust. Jane's mother knew that the Cullen fortune was several dozen million, and yet Edward purchased groceries with the same finesse as Homer Simpson. Eventually, Edward had fallen asleep over a brick-sized textbook, and Jane was fuming in the apartment like a caged tiger. "If you're so bored, you should just leave, Janie," Emmett pointed out, arching an eyebrow.
A friend of Jane's thought Emmett was fuckhot. Jane could barely tolerate him these days: he was a meddlesome, hillbilly oaf.
The lanyard phone to the apartment had rung at that precise moment, saving Jane from storming out. Emmett screened the call and shuddered away from the phone. Edward, who drooled when he was exhausted, lifted his head from the textbook. Jane winced as he peeled off a single, drool-covered page that had stuck to his cheek.
"Dude, it's your grandma," Emmett said with a cringe.
Jane's bad mood dissipated. Her one powerful ally was Mrs. Victoria Cullen, widowed wife to Congressman William Cullen III. Greta had quickly established contact with Mrs. Cullen. "The Cullens are American aristocracy, but we're not precisely paupers," Greta had smirked. Just as quickly, Jane had been invited to tea with Mrs. Cullen. "It's a perfect time to show interest," Greta had said. "The old bat just lost three dozen million to the Bernie Madoff Ponzi. He'll know you're interested in him if you date him now, while they wait to recover the assets."
Mrs. Cullen, who had looked decrepit and deprived, looked at Jane like she was the answer to her every prayer. Jane would never admit to it out loud, but she had Edward's grandmother's number firmly saved on her Blackberry.
Sleepily, Edward blinked. "Let it go to voicemail."
"You should answer, Edward," Jane cooed sweetly. "Or I can answer."
Edward rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. "Whatever."
Jane beamed. "Hello?"
"Jane?" Mrs. Cullen said, brightening. "Oh. It's so good to hear you, dear. Oh, this is perfect. I was just calling to ask Edward to invite you... My son is opening Wharton Bay for the summer. You should join us."
Jane was intelligent enough to recognize that Edward spend two weeks trying to talk her out of going to Wharton Bay. In her most self-deprecating moments, Jane wondered if Edward invited Emmett strategically, just to spite her.
Jane fell in love with the Wharton Bay estate at first sight. The mansion was perched on a bluff overlooking the shimmering expanse of the ocean. The house façade was a canvas of stone. The roof was adorned with intricate gingerbread trim that spoke of craftsmanship long forgotten. A wraparound porch, supported by sturdy Doric columns, stretched the length of the house, offering panoramic views of the crescent-shaped beach and the endless turquoise horizon. For twenty minutes, Jane floated, feeling a surge of affection for her prince of a boyfriend, who had behaved like a perfect gentleman for the day.
The only damper in her perfect joy was Emmett, hanging on like a crusty booger. Emmett had driven in his piece of shit car – an ancient Dodge from Chrysler that emitted enough fumes to heat the earth, always half a mile behind Edward and Jane. The oaf and Edward's father greeted each other warmly. "Doctor C," Emmett called him. "Ready to kick back," he chortled good-naturedly, and Jane thought he sounded retarded. "Practice some tennis."
Jane couldn't help herself. "You play tennis in Appalachia?" she asked, in a voice as sugary and innocent as a spoonful of honey. With her eyes, she conveyed to Emmett how much she hated him.
Emmett glared hatefully. "Edward taught me last summer," Emmett said frostily. Then, he smirked like the Cheshire cat. "But he fucking sucks at it, so Dr. C had to step in."
"Dr. Cullen," Jane said, ignoring Edward as he punched Emmett in the stomach. "It's so great to meet you."
For a split second, Jane thought Edward's father was sexier than Edward. An inch taller than his son, the blonde-haired doctor was incredibly handsome. Though Jane kept up a sparkling, giggly conversation with Doctor Cullen, she quickly discovered he was an affable, pleasantly mannered doctor that wore his grief for his late wife on his sleeve.
"You should help Jane settle in," Carlisle said to his son, a hint of tiredness in his voice. "It's going to be a full house. She gets pick of one of the twin beds."
Jane did not bother to hide her disappointment. "I thought it would just be us," Jane pouted.
"No, my whole family is coming," Edward corrected her curtly. "I told you."
Dr. Cullen eyed Jane peculiarly. "We're a party of eleven in a ten-person house," he explained.
"Eleven people?" Jane squealed, forcing a glittering smile on her face to hide her blistering disappointment.
Carlisle nodded, then turned to Edward. "Do you think Bella is going to want a room on the ground floor? I can set up the study for her." Carlisle asked, addressing Edward directly. "I asked Mr. Maynard to get the en suite bathroom ready for her in the Oyster Room."
Jane's confusion only grew with Edward's reply. "No idea. Let's ask when she get's here. Is the bathroom really ready?"
"The basics," Carlisle said apologetically. "Couple of grab bars and a shower chair."
"I'll look it over in a minute," Edward grumbled. "Come on, Janie. Em, can you fucking make yourself useful with one of the suitcases?"
Edward lifted the largest of Jane's three suitcases and hurried up the winged staircase. Emmett followed behind, grabbing two suitcases like the valet he was, and complaining to himself so loudly that Jane wanted to slap him. "Who is Bella?" Jane asked of Edward in a bird-like voice, keeping a smile plastered to her face.
Edward froze on the last step of the staircase. Emmett groaned, then started to laugh. It was an ironic, dark laugh that infuriated Jane. "Edward, you're such an idiot. Such an idiot."
"What is so funny?" Jane asked acidly. "Who's Bella?"
Realization dawned on Edward's face, and he looked like he wanted to vanish into thin air. Emmett laughed again, a mocking, mirthless laugh. "Christ, that's gonna take a while," Emmett said cheekily. He paused at the end of the hallway to toss Jane's suitcase down the hall like it was a wet rag, making Jane yelp and glare.
"I'm going to go take a bubble bath in one of many bathtubs, Your Royal Grandificence," Emmett announced. He clapped Edward on the shoulder and walked away.
Victoria called Edward "her little prince," and Emmett found it hilarious. Amazingly, he invented some mocking variation of Your Royal Highness every day: Your Majesticness, Your Gracefulness.
"I hope you drown," Edward deadpanned after Emmett. He turned to Jane and pinched the bridge of his nose, violently rubbing his eyes.
"Uh, Isabella is my mom's sister's stepdaughter. Former stepdaughter, actually," Edward mumbled incoherently. He was studying a painting behind Jane with great interest as he spoke.
"I'm sorry. What?" Jane asked impatiently, looking at Edward like he was stupid.
"You heard me," Edward said, a hangdog sparkle in his eye.
"Your Aunt?" Jane repeated. "Your mom's sister?" This was the first time Edward mentioned this Aunt to Jane, and Jane felt a sting of hurt.
"Yes, my Aunt was married to Isabella's father," Edward snapped curtly. "I'll draw you a family tree before dinner. Can I go now?"
Two girls arrived late in the evening. One girl was a beautiful, athletic blonde whose beauty made Jane panic. Jane was beautiful herself - Greta had pushed for Jane to model for Abercrombie and Fitch. It didn't mean she was happy to have beautiful girls "summering" with her boyfriend.
The other girl was crippled.
She was walking with crutches – the kind that had handles at the forearms. There were braces on both of her legs, rigid and hinged, running from her thighs to her feet. Her gait was fucked: she walked with her one leg twisted inwards, knees almost brushing together and chronically bent. Her back wasn't fully straight. She looked like she was on the verge of tipping forward. Not only crippled, but spastic. Isabella was trembling lightly with spasms as if she were perpetually shuddering.
The crippled girl was Isabella.
Jane felt an orgasmic wave of relief, knowing there was no threat to be eliminated. Short-lived, Jane's relief was tempered by the other thing that was evident about Isabella.
Isabella - was gorgeous. Perfect, delicate features. Big, brown doe eyes. Thick dark eyebrows. Jane was beautiful, and so was the fellow blonde – but Isabella had the kind of striking beauty that turned workaday models into stars. Jane had the intelligence to notice that almost immediately.
"Careful. There's a rug right there," Edward said. Jane was left breathless at the tone of his voice. Achingly gentle. Tender. Soft. Playful."Bee, love, this is Jane," Edward said somberly, and his expression darkened. He was looking at Jane dangerously, a warning in his eyes.
"It's nice to meet you, Jane," Bella said, peeking at Jane from underneath thick eyelashes, offering a shy smile. Isabella's speech was slightly slurred like she was on the verge of drunkenness.
Jane fought back the gunfire of her own emotions. She wondered if she was on a bad acid trip. Jane's boyfriend was not looking at crippled Isabella with a completely lovestruck, tender expression on his face. Jane's boyfriend had not just used a term of endearment to address another girl.
Jane reacted instinctively. She sneered, her nose wrinkling. "Nice to meet you, too," she lied flatly, in a voice that made her lie as visible as the sun setting outside.
Jane stood under the steaming hot shower for nearly an hour. Once she had composed herself, Jane put on light makeup and a white maxi dress. As she descended back to the ground floor, Jane studied the house. The art on the walls was an elegant collection of Americana. Jane was certain one painting was Helen Frankenthaler. As she descended the winged staircase, she admired its banister: the marbling, swirling patterns on the wood suggested it was Carpathian elm.
The living room was no less astonishing. It was as expansive as some people's apartments, large enough for two handsome sofa sets and a home wet bar, with handsome wood paneling and a dozen bottles of expensive liquors. There was also a Steinway and Sons parlor piano, in a place of honor in front of a wood fire place. Feeling a swell of contentment, Jane studied every detail: the leather couches, the fireplace. Two French doors lead to a dining room, laid out in the English style. The dining room itself opened into a passageway that led into the kitchen. For servants, Jane imagined.
The conversation in the kitchen was audible from the servant's passageway.
"And the divorce? How's that going?"
Jane froze, and stood in the darkened passageway, without making her presence known.
Her boyfriend's father and this crippled girl - Isabella - were cooking together, in a comfortable routine. Isabella was sitting on a high-backed stool on the kitchen island. With trembling fingers, she was plucking cilantro leaves from their stem. Dr. Cullen was dicing a white onion. Isabella's thick, dark hair was pulled back into a catastrophically messy ponytail, and she wore tattered light pajamas: flowery pants and a loose white t-shirt. A wheelchair – unlike any wheelchair Jane had ever seen - stood next to the barstool.
Isabella snorted. "It's been such a nightmare," she huffed, but her tone was light, and she sounded almost amused. "I get copied on these horrible emails once a week where they fight over the dumbest nonsense. The last one – " She let out a peal of a giggle, and Edward's father echoed it with a rusty laugh. "They're fighting over the Thermomix. I swear. Over the Thermomix. Some lawyer wrote three paragraphs on why my Dad should keep it."
Carlisle laughed croakily and warmly.
"I think he should keep it because he doesn't know how to cook, but I know he doesn't give a half a shit – "
Carlisle whooped, clearly amused.
"Sorry," Bella squeaked.
"No, no, not at all," Carlisle said. "I'm glad you're finally cursing."
Bella grinned sheepishly. "Yes, well... It's true, though. My Dad does not care about the stupid Thermomix. He's just being a spiteful little troll."
Carlisle laughed again.
"And that's just this week," Bella continued, shaking her head. "Last week, my Dad was bullying – my Mom, eh – Esme – over a - I don't know. You know how my Mom is. She uses brands to talk about objects. Something something Boca do Lobo. I mean, I think it was a mirror. A mirror."
Carlisle sighed. "They were together for – how many years? 16? You accumulate a lot of stuff when you're together that long. Lizzie would hoard letters from her students, and – well...Marriages end up having a lot of cardboard boxes." Carlisle drifted off with a gulp. The rhythmic dicing of the onion stopped.
Isabella reached out to touch his hand. "I know," she said. "I helped my Mom glue them into a memory book, remember?"
Carlisle blinked, and his shoulders slumped under the force of a sudden onset wave of grief. He shook his head, shifting the conversation. "Do you remember where that ended up? Did that end up in storage?"
"I don't remember, but I don't think it's in the U-Haul," she said softly. "My mom's anal about that kind of thing. Probably thought the paper would get moldy."
Rosalie walked into the kitchen at that very moment. That was the other blonde's name – Isabella's best friend. She entered the kitchen through another doorway. Like Bella, she was fresh-faced and had recently showered. "Hey, uh. Sir. Swan. Can I help with anything?" she said awkwardly.
"Yeah," Isabella told her. "Can you mash the avocadoes?"
Jane decided that was her cue. Tiptoeing, she circled through the dining room of the ground floor to enter the kitchen through its alternative doorway. "Hello!" she said brightly, smiling at her future father-in-law with all the sweetness she could muster. "Thank you for having me again, Doctor Cullen. The house is splendid."
"You're very welcome," Carlisle said kindly. Even then, Jane was stabbed by jealousy. It was nowhere near as warm and comfortable a conversation as that he was having with crippled Isabella.
Despite the pang of hurt, Jane continued to smile. "Every furnishing is just so very stunning," Jane continued. "Is the banister made of Carpathian elm?"
Rosalie stopped peeling the avocado. Her eyes boggled, and looked at Jane incredulously.
Carlisle's brows wrinkled. He looked discombobulated - as if he had never had cause to think about the banister wood. "Eh," he said. "You know, that is an excellent question. I – I actually don't know. My mother is coming on Friday. I'm sure she'll know."
"Oh," Jane said chirpily and then pursued another avenue of conversation. Awkwardly, she moved around Isabella's wheelchair, feeling irked. It was obstructing the space between the kitchen island and the table. Jane sat on the kitchen table. "It's not just the furnishings. The artwork, too. I think I saw a Helen Frankenthaler on the upstairs floor."
"Uuh," Carlisle said. "I'm not quite sure, unfortunately. I do know original Winslow Homers are hanging in the study. I'll be happy to show them to you."
"Who the fuck is Winslow Homer?" Disheveled from a fresh run, Edward walked in at that very moment. With the thoughtlessness that came from habit, Edward walked up to Isabella and gently kissed her temple. Jane's stomach twisted. Jane wasn't the only one that noticed. Rosalie stopped her mashing; her blue eyes widened with curiosity.
Carlisle looked completely unperturbed at the casual display of affection. "Set the table, son," he instructed. "And don't say fuck."
Isabella stopped plucking cilantro leaves from their stem. "I think Jane might know, who Winslow Holmes is," she said kindly, twisting to look at Jane. "Who is Winslow Homer?"
Jane forced a smile, despite being filled with dislike for this bitch. "He's considered the best American painter of the 19th century," she explained. Bella arched an eyebrow, Rosalie looked disgusted, and Edward looked completely disinterested. "Wowza. That's super interesting," Isabella said, in a tone so genuine that Jane wondered if she was stupid. "You always hear about the Pollocks and the Warhols and - you know, the abstract art."
"I only know who Winston Harlow is because my mother refuses to donate the paintings to the Met," Carlisle said casually, and Rosalie's mouth fell open in mild shock.
"Winslow Homer," Bella corrected with a giggle.
"See?" Carlisle said, in a warm, avuncular tone. "That's how much I've cared about that all along."
The conversation ended at that moment, and the awkward silence that befell them lasted throughout dinner. The meal was a stilted, awkward affair. Jane found it surprisingly déclassé: Edward's hick-like behavior was obviously learned: Carlisle laid out platters of shredded beef and chicken, with guacamole and store-brought flour tortillas. The plates were scratched, well-worn and chipped in places.
Jane was irritated before dinner started: Emmett joining in only dampened her mood further.
"Do you wanna sit in your chair, or...?" It was a whisper of a question, from Edward to Isabella. An intimate one. Edward helped Isabella descend from the barstool, with expert, practiced movements. He helped her sit on a regular chair. Jane gawked, open-mouthed, as Edward expertly broke down the wheelchair. Jane had never seen anything like it before: Edward removed the seat, folded the backrest, and popped off the wheels by pressing down on the center.
For nearly fifteen minutes, the only noise was Emmett humming with pleasure over the cheap tacos. Jane fantasized about slapping him. Stifled by the awkwardness, Edward started fidgeting. He started bouncing his knee, but quickly, his entire body began to shake. Jane, who had seen this behavior before, was filled with secondhand embarrassment. She could feel the vibrations of Edward's violent fidgeting and could sense his discomfort. He had his elbow on the table, his trademark breach in etiquette, and a hand in his hair. The words knock it off danced at the tip of Jane's tongue.
Wordlessly, Isabella gingerly touched Edward's palm. As if on cue, Edward stopped fidgeting.
Shaken and inexplicably threatened, Jane dropped her taco.
"Does anybody want Margaritas?" Rosalie asked in the middle of dinner, and Emmett whooped. "We're all over 21," Rose added sheepishly, to a whoop from Emmett.
Carlisle blinked, caught off guard. "I suppose you all are," he agreed, then chuckled. "The blender is older than Edward, but there's ice in the freezer and – we must have Tequila in the bar."
Edward smirked devilishly, and Jane's stomach flipped. "We do."
Carlisle rolled his eyes. "Since you're so familiar with our alcohol cellar," Carlisle said, faintly amused. "Can you go get a bottle?"
"Oh, no, that's OK," Rosalie interjected quickly. "Bells and I stopped for groceries on our way here. We bought tequila and RumChata."
"There's Cointreau in the wet bar," Edward added helpfully, brightening.
"Great," Rosalie beamed. "Bella and I bought frozen mango."
Isabella had turned scarlet, an apology plastered plainly on her face. She smiled sheepishly at Doctor Cullen.
"Should we rim the glasses?" Rosalie asked of no one in particular, and Emmett agreed with irksome, oafish enthusiasm.
Once the margaritas had been served, Emmett started asking Rosalie questions. It was far from the conversation Jane wanted to have - Jane wanted to talk to her future father-in-law As far as Jane was concerned, Rosalie and Emmett were the least important people at the table. Despite that, the two of them dominated the conversation well into midnight. They had both been Resident Assistants at their respective colleges. As the alcohol flowed, so did their stories of patrolling college dorms.
"People are crazy, man," Emmett was laughing. "You really see the whackiest shit – "
Rosalie and Emmett were shifting closer and closer together, enraptured.
"I know," Rosalie said. "One time - I don't know if I should say, 'cause Bella shat a brick when it happened, but – "
"Oh, God," Bella groaned. "No, Rose, not the – the Japanese Hentai – "
"Stop being such a prude," Rosalie said teasingly, wrinkling her nose. "Right. So, Norwich is full of weeaboos – "
Dr. Cullen reached across Jane to grab a fun-sized Snickers bar. Sometime before midnight, Bella had asked Edward to bring out candy.
"What'dya mean a weeabo?" Edward asked. Jane wanted to think that the alcohol was making him touchy. He had turned his body completely, back to his father. His chin was resting gently on Isabella's head. His chest was pressed to her back. Lazily, Edward was stroking her bare arm. Isabella kept wiggling away, out from underneath him, casting apologetic looks in Jane's direction. Seething, Jane wanted to slap her.
Bella wiggled out from underneath Edward to explain. Unperturbed, Edward took the opportunity to pop a gummy bear in his mouth. "Kids that are really into Japanese culture. Norwich has a huge Japanese program because the school admitted Japanese students during World War II."
"Sweetie, you're so precious sometimes."
Edward looked at Isabella with an expression full of love – tender, exasperated, like he wanted to hug her. "I don't think that's where Rose was going with this, sweetheart," he said teasingly, making Bella blush without wiping the smile off her face.
"Right. So like Swan was saying. The school is full of weeaboos, and it so happened that – this was the middle of Thanksgiving break, I should add – and Swan was doing rounds with me – "
"Right, 'cause RAs have to check that people turn of their heaters, that kind of thing."
"Yeah, it's not illegal or anything. And so Swan and I are checking the rooms – I told her to come with me, 'cause you never know what the fuck you're gonna see – "
"One hundred percent," Emmett agreed. "I hated doing room checks alone."
"So Swan and I, we go into this one kid's bedroom - "
Bella buried her face in her hands, turning scarlet. She peeked from between her fingers at Doctor Cullen. "Rose," she squeaked. "My Uncle Carlisle is right there – "
"The doc is cool," Rosalie said, sipping from her third Margarita and giddily tipsy. "His salt rims are perfect. I've never seen someone rim glasses that fast."
Carlisle, also on his fourth Margarita, grinned cockily. He looked eerily like Edward, and twenty years younger. "I was a bartender for six years," he said smoothly, clearly already tipsy. Surprised, Edward grinned at his father.
"See, Swan?" Rosalie said, relishing every detail of her tale. "So we go into this one kid's bedroom, and – wall to wall, the room is full of these fucking printouts of -"
Bella started making a sound like a mouse screeching, but then she started laughing. Grinning, Edward kissed her hair. To Jane, Edward was a different person: relaxed, happy, laughing. Jane had never heard him laugh like that. His laugh was warm and deep, and to Jane, the sound was beautiful.
"—weird, weird Japanese anime porn. Like anime characters fucking. Really wild shit, like Sailor Moon with giant breasts. Weird, weird shit. And so – " Rose started laughing "Isabella starts screaming, you know, like, I thought she was going to start blowing a whistle – "
Edward snorted out his Margarita, and even Doctor Cullen was laughing, despite the cringing on his face. Isabella was laughing, too, so hard that tears were streaming down her face.
Rosalie slammed her hand against her forehead, shaking her head. "So, obviously, like five people came into the room to figure out what the fuck was happening, so literally - literally, like six people came into the room, and I got into so much trouble."
Bella looked at Rose, grinning peevishly. "I said I was sorry."
"This dude – Swan, do you remember his name? – Anyway, he comes back from Thanksgiving break, and literally everybody knew he was into anime porn, and I got reported for indiscretion."
"I felt bad afterwards," Isabella interjected, earnestly. "I felt really, really bad."
"Sweetie, he printed and hung a picture of Pikachu fucking," Rosalie said, leaning back against her chair. "You did us all a public service."
Jane had slept fitfully, and very little. Dr. Cullen had headed upstairs at midnight. At 2 o'clock, the kids had followed. Jane had endured watching Edward and Emmett help crippled Isabella up to her room. Emmett carried the wheelchair, and Edward cradle-carried Isabella. Jane felt insulted, small, and ignored. She wanted to weep into her pillow.
Jane's mood soured immediately at breakfast. Edward wasn't there, and neither was Dr. Cullen. Jane, however, could hear Emmett and Rosalie from the grand staircase. When she walked into the kitchen, they were enraptured, having a hell of a conversation. For the third time in less than two days, Jane felt like she was interrupting an intimate conversation: Rosalie and Emmett as physically close to each other as they could be without touching each other.
"Good morning," Jane said sharply, giving Emmett his morning glare.
"Hi, Jane," Rosalie said, not unkindly. "We were just talking about, eh – "
"Politics," Emmett said, grinning wolfishly at Rosalie, and even Jane had to admit, there was something attractive about that smile.
Hating this feeling of isolation, Jane sat next to them momentarily. She wondered if the sense of rejection she was feeling was being fueled by Emmett personally.
"I worked my ass off with the Obama campaign," Rosalie was saying intently, and Emmett was enraptured. "I spent the entire semester getting out the vote in Maine. The real challenge was the Senate – Holley, won anyways -"
"Who is Holley, again?"
"Maine Senator. Republican. She's moderate."
"Right, right. Listen, Rose, I – I gotta tell you sumthin', before this goes any further," Emmett said, and then grinned wolfishly.
"Oh, God," Rosalie asked hoarsely, paling. "Are you a conservative?"
"I voted Blue in '08, but I voted Red again in the midterms – "
Rosalie's face twisted with disgust.
"Come on, Rosalie, listen. I had my reasons – First off, I never liked the way Obama talked about the war in Afghanistan," Emmett said, deathly serious. "My brothers served two tours of duty, and he was just … what's the word y'all political types use? Pandering. He was just panderin' about ending the war. It was never gonna be that simple. My brothers have been to Afghanistan. They know the minute we leave … "
Grunting, Jane stood from the table again, irritated at being ignored and at the turn in the conversation. Rosalie and Emmett were being downright rude. Grumpily, she looked through the kitchen to find something for breakfast. Someone had left a box of doughnuts and bagels on the kitchen counter.
"Oh," Edward said. Jane spun on her heel. "Morning, guys. I was helping Bella come down the stairs."
Isabella followed Edward. She was using the crutches, and Jane noticed anew that they made noise. Click, click, thump. Drag. The soles of her feet dragged harshly against the ground, screeching. With some schadenfreude, Jane thought that Isabella looked less crippled when she used the wheelchair. Jane thought that, in the same situation, Jane would use the wheelchair all the time.
Edward helped Isabella to into her seat. "Do you want coffee?" Edward asked Isabella softly, almost whispering in her ear. He used that voice he seemed to reserve for Isabella. Gentle. Achingly sweet. "Juice?"
"Eh, uh. Both, please?" Bella squeaked.
"Apple? Orange? There's yogurt in the fridge, I think. My Dad got Greek. There's donuts, too, sweetheart."
Isabella cast an embarrassed, apologetic look in Jane's direction.
Jane would spend hours of therapy replaying that scene in her head. Her boyfriend. The man she had slept with for two-and-a-half years, pouring juice for another girl, and calling her sweetheart. Emmett and Rosalie had stopped their conversation: Emmett was smirking, clearly delighted, and Rosalie was looking at the scene curiously.
"Jane?" Bella asked. "Jane, have you had breakfast?"
"I'm toasting a bagel," Jane said flatly, in no mood to be polite.
Rosalie and Emmett returned to their debate, and Jane wondered if they had slept at all. "What's your second reason?" Rosalie asked, leaning towards Emmett. Their noses were practically touching, and their gazes were blazing with intensity.
Emmett's tone was deadly serious, but his eyes were playful. It was clear he was enjoying the conversation immensely. "With Obamacare. My family's right in this space where we're too well-off to get Medicaid, but not well-off enough for good healthcare. Neither of my parents' employers gets 'em healthcare. My Ma works part-time – she takes care of her brother Daniel, and my Pa, too. Part-time. He has lupus. That's why I went into medicine, actually. So now we're forced to get 'em coverage, and the prices went sky high." Jane fought the urge to scoff. Emmett had all the markers of white trash.
Rose pursed her lips but was enjoying the challenge. Her eyes were sparkling. "But, you have to agree, the changes against preexisting conditions."
"Yeah, I agree with that. But the policy itself was a shitshow, Rose." Emmett leaned back, triumphantly. "There's tons of academic paper on this, too," he explained. "I'm doing a double degree in Public Health. I'm not pullin' this out my ass."
Bella was looking at them with a mixture of panic and interest. "Rose," Bella cautioned. "Rose, you promised."
Rose raised both her hands. "Sweetie, I promise. I was being good. I'm just finding out that Emmett's a Republican." She said this last part with a spit.
"Rose, Christ, Republicans aren't – I don't know, Stormtroopers from Star Wars."
Rose made a hum of disagreement. Edward looked uncomfortable as he gently set a mug of coffee in front of Isabella, giving zero fucks about Jane's coffee.
Emmett smirked, delighting as always in the chance to tease Edward. "Darlin', you know the Cullens are Republicans, right? Edward's grandfather was a Republican congressman."
"I know that. Well, at least I know that now," Rose muttered. "Swan was super fucking vague about her Edward and her 'Uncle Carlisle.' I had no idea that they were, you know. The Cullens."
Bella glared at Rosalie pointedly, and then shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, he's always been, you know...my Uncle Carlisle. Uncle Carlisle - embarrasses you talking about menarche. Uncle Carlisle - embarrasses you at your Middle School graduation. Uncle Carlisle - gets your nose."
Edward's lips twisted into a smile.
"Edward's other grandfather was in politics, too, you know," Emmett said, enjoying teasing Edward a little too much. "Senator Ed Masen."
"Em," Isabella cautioned sharply. Edward's discomfort was evident, and Isabella rubbed his arm as he set a glass of orange juice in front of her.
Rosalie turned to Edward, mouth open. "Ed Masen? Your other grandfather is Ed Masen!?" she almost shrieked. "Wait, Bella. Bella. Does this mean that Esme's Dad is …?"
"Rose," Bella hissed. "Shut up."
Jane finally saw her chance to defend her boyfriend. "I admire Edward's family," she said prissily. "The Cullens have done great things for this country."
Rose and Emmett's faces were identical masks of incredulous disdain.
Bella switched the conversation quickly. "Did you two stay up all night?"
Jane called her mother at night on her second day. The reasons for her bad mood slipped through her fingers like sand. To clear her head, Jane called her mother. Greta was hungry for information. "How's the house? What does it look like? I Googled it – your little sister showed me how – and there's an article in Town & Country, and another in the Washington Post."
"The estate is beyond," Jane said tartly and briefly. "It's insane. There's a tennis court, and a private dock, and priceless art all over, and – "
"Oh, Janie," Greta said dreamily. "Oh, Janie. Oh, sugar. Is it going well? How's it going?"
"It's… It's weird. It's a family reunion – I thought it was just going to be me and, his Dad, and his Grandma, but there's a bunch of weird tagalongs." As she finished her statement, she grew angrier and angrier. That was the problem. A bunch of tagalongs.
"There's this – this girl. This crippled girl," Jane continued, and she relished using the term crippled. "And she's – she's Edward's… former relative? Well, I don't know what they are. I don't understand their relationship."
"Sugar, back up a minute," Greta said. "You lost mommy. Let's think about this… strategically, Daddy would say. Who's there with you?"
Jane was growing teary with impatience. "I told you," Jane snapped. "Edward's Dad, that redneck Emmett – " Francis snorted her displeasure "—and this – this Isabella person, and Isabella's best friend. This Isabella is.. some kind of distant relation." Jane took a breath. "Isabella is his mother's sister's ex-husband's daughter."
"Wait, wat?"
"Isabella is Edward's mother's sister's ex-husband's daughter." Greta repeated the line.
"And you've got a bee in your bonnet because..?"
Jane took a shuddering breath, on the verge of tears. "I mean, I shouldn't – there's no reason to be worried. I told you. She's a cripple."
"Janie," Greta tsked.
"She is crippled, mother. She can't walk. At least, I don't think she can. She's on crutches. Like Tiny Tim. She even has a wheelchair." Jane was so overwhelmed with jealousy that she was enjoying every insult, wishing she could spit it out on Isabella's face.
"Poor girl."
"She's fine," Jane muttered, unwilling to feel anything but disgust.
"Janie bear, I don't think there's anything to worry about. Or – what's the concern? Why are you so mad?"
Jane didn't have an answer. What bothered her so much? The sound of his voice when he spoke to her, in the tone he seemed to reserve just for her? The terms of endearment? Random light touches? A random kiss to her temple? That he served her coffee? "He's… he's just very… sweet with her. Very sweet," Jane managed to say.
"It's prob'lly just pity," Greta said, sounding almost irritated. "This is just… the first tiny bump in the road. There's going to be many, many bumps. If you can't handle one tiny hiccup…"
"I'm not thinking about marriage, mother," Jane lied with a sneer. She was more in love than ever. In the middle of Wharton Bay, the Cullen Maine estate, Jane's daydream of becoming Mrs. Dr. Edward Cullen was more vivid than ever. Edward Cullen – gorgeous, dedicated medical student, scion of one of the oldest American families. Edward was going to inherit two multi-million dollar mansions one day. Jane swooned at the thought.
"But thank you, mother," Jane finished snootily. "I do feel better now."
It took very little to irritate Jane after three days. The straw that finally broke Jane's back was an incident she wasn't supposed to witness. It was another one of those moments that she couldn't seem to escape – moments of unbearable intimacy between Edward and Isabella. Jane had cried herself to sleep the night before. Wharton Bay was an old house, and the walls were thin. Jane felt trapped, caught in a Greek tragedy, with three people that clearly wanted her gone.
Jane had secured permission from Doctor Cullen to photograph the art in the house. It was a good excuse to escape Emmett and Rosalie, virtually fucking, spiraling into a relationship.
On her third day at Wharton Bay, Jane focused on an oil painting portrait of William Cullen II, 19th century American magnate and founder of the Cullen fortune. Jane was certain the painter was Mary Cassat. In fact, in her amateur research, Jane had come to the conclusion that most of the paintings in the house were worth a couple of million each. The painting sat on the English-style, narrow dining room.
The doors to the dining room were ajar while Jane was photographing the painting. Jane jumped, startled, when she heard clumsy piano playing.
Jane's irritation flared. She tiptoed towards the living room. Jane's boyfriend and that crippled bitch were sitting in front of the Baby Grand. They sat arm-to-arm on the piano bench. Isabella's crutches were strewn across the floor, and Isabella was ham-handedly playing a childish, dissonant melody. Jane cringed.
Jane had half a mind to make her presence known, but then, she froze. A deeply-rooted instinct told her to snoop, to listen.
"You're just too fucking cute sometimes," Edward said sweetly, once she was finished.
"I – I told you I suck," she said squeakily.
Jane could hear Edward smiling. "You're not great," he lied. "But I think you'll get better with a little practice."
"I just wanted to learn to read music. I took a music theory class and I was good at it," Isabella admitted sheepishly. "But, you know, I have a harder time with the actual playing."
Edward was quietly pensive for a minute. "Let's try something," he suggested after a beat, and again, his voice made Jane's heart twist. Sweet, playful. Warm. "There are some teaching books inside the piano bench. Can you try to stand a little, love? Just – there you go."
Isabella stood with difficulty, and Jane wanted to gloat. It was hard for her legs to bear her weight. She flailed like a toddler learning to walk while she figured out what to hold onto. One of her hands slammed against the keys, and the other hand fell flatly on Edward's back. Edward seemed used to it, and barely winced. "Careful, darling."
Agile, Edward popped the top of the piano bench open. A cloud of dust flew upwards, and Edward fished out a handful of books, then shut the lid of the bench. Isabella plopped back down clumsily. "These," he said, with flourish, "are my Mom's teaching books." Carefully, he set the books on the music rack.
Jane's heart was twisting, but she kept on watching, like a glutton for punishment. She had been dating this man for 28 painstaking months, and he had never mentioned his mother. He had never mentioned the piano. Jane had found through literal stalking that Elizabeth Masen was a professional pianist.
"Disney at the Piano," Bella said reverently.
"She was so cheesy," Edward said fondly. "Like, what the fuck is this? Benny Anderson Piano?"
"Edward, that's ABBA."
"I know who Benny Andersson is, Bella," Edward laughed.
"I think it's lovely," Bella said defensively. "That's exactly the kind of thing I'd love to learn."
"You two had the same shitty taste. Anyway, there's this – this one. Look. You love this one. You made my Mom play it for you on a loop when we were little, remember? It was fucking annoying."
"Can't you play it? So I remember?" Bella said pleadingly.
"I haven't played in years. Not since High School," Edward said guiltily. "But, since you're the reason I played piano again – "
"You play beautifully, and that has nothing to do with me."
"Whatever. I want to try something, OK? But if you tell a single soul I'm playing these pussy kiddy songs – "
"You'll kill me," she finished playfully.
"Slowly and painfully," he reiterated. "Anyway. Put your hand on top of mine. I'll go slowly."
Jane slid down the wall until she hit the floor. Knees bent, elbows on her knees, she listened to Edward's impromptu concerto. It was a little choppy and certainly imperfect at the beginning. Edward played Heart and Soul for Isabella, who gasped with delight. He played the song over and over for her, stopping periodically to try to teach. "That's – just the chord. Just the chord, Bella. Sweetheart, just the chord," he'd say impatiently. Or he'd tap his hand rhythmically, to illustrate the tempo. Jane could hear his irritation growing, but Isabella just giggled when she failed.
"You're a great teacher," she said, and Jane imagined her touching his cheek. "But I'm - I'm not gonna get any better. Can you just play for me?" There was a dreamy quality to her voice. "You play so beautifully."
Edward inhaled, sucking air through his teeth.
"Fine," he agreed. "Which one do you want?"
A beat elapsed. "Jesus, Isabella. Not Disney At the Piano. I'm gonna be beaten to death if someone finds out. Emmett's going to have a fucking field day."
Isabella laughed. She sounded normal and healthy when she laughed, like there was nothing wrong with her. "Please? For me?"
Edward muttered and groaned the entire time. Despite his complaining, he played piano for her. He wasn't a professional. His playing wasn't perfect, but it was beautiful. Jane could hear the mistakes, the choppiness over certain bars. Sometimes, he flatly stopped, to try again. But he played, and he played beautifully. You'll Be In My Heart. The Beauty and the Beast theme song. Grumbling, Edward played Mamma Mia on the piano. As Edward played, Jane made the most painful decision she had made in her 24 years.
Jane Ashcroft Voltaire decided to break up with her boyfriend of two years.
Edward was obviously deeply in love with another girl.
Edward Cullen was in love with Isabella.